by John Norman
“It would not be wise,” he said. “Slaves speak.”
“No,” she said. “No!”
“A loquacious slave is more dangerous than the three-banded viper,” he said.
“I will not speak,” she wept.
“It would be too dangerous,” he said.
“Mercy!” she said.
“I will not tie your legs,” he said. “Thus you can struggle for a time, perhaps one or two minutes, until your head is sucked beneath the surface.”
“I am only a poor slave,” she wept. “I beg mercy, Master!”
“It should be amusing to see you thrash about for a time,” he said. “Then you will disappear from sight, and it will be as though you never were.”
“Please, no, Master!” she wept.
He bent down, and she was lifted from the grass. Her weight was as nothing to him. One arm was behind her back, the other behind the back of her knees. She could see only his eyes, hard, above the bandages he had wrapped about his mouth and nose, to fend away the locale’s miasma.
Suddenly the bright glare of the sun was gone.
The man, holding the slave, looked up, startled, his face in shadow. It seemed as though some object, surely a cloud, had interposed itself between the sun and the foul, heated earth. But this was a broad cloud, and one of steel and flame, and one of several such clouds.
“Aatii!” he cried, casting the slave to the turf, turning, and running, stumbling, toward the distant walls of Telnar.
There were six such clouds of steel which lowered themselves gently on feet of fire to the earth. No sooner had these great forms, like platforms resting on legs of metal, come to rest than several ports in the hulls slid open and ramps protruded, descending to the earth. Down these ramps rumbled strings of armored vehicles, some on treads, while, from other ports, open hoverers with mounted weaponry emerged, like hornets streaming from a nest.
Cornhair struggled to her feet, frightened, but laughing hysterically with joy, elated to be alive.
Then she winced for she saw the running figure of the man who had held her, several yards away, burst into flame, and vanish in smoke, and a hoverer, low, only a dozen feet in the air, continuing on its way toward the walls of Telnar.
Vehicles, skirting the refuse pits, roared about Cornhair, who dared not move. Hoverers, like dark plates, dotted the sky.
There could be no landing, she had heard. The ensconced batteries might incinerate anything within range.
But here, in this place of stench and horror, in this lonely, vacant, avoided place, the walls of Telnar in the distance, before her very eyes, the air still hot and stirred from their descent, were ships, the fabled Lion Ships, six such ships, of the Aatii.
Cornhair screamed, and twisted away, nearly struck by a hurtling vehicle.
She stood upright, that the pilots of those armed, racing ground ships might see her, that she might not be caught in treads or crushed into the earth by broad, heavy tires.
Though she was not collared she was alone in this terrible place, and her hands were tied behind her, and she was tunicked, tunicked as was thought fit for a slave. Her slim, well-turned lineaments were well exposed, as would be unthinkable for a free woman. Surely there could be no doubt as to her status. If so, it might be instantly confirmed, by tearing aside the hem of her skirt, on the left side, revealing the slave rose.
Bondage has its terrors and its joys.
So much depends on the Master!
What slave does not wish to be owned by a severe, but kindly Master, one who has some sense of what it is to be a woman, some sense of what a woman wants and needs, one who will subject her to the domination without which she cannot be her true self, a female at the feet of a male, one by whom she, as she wishes, will be owned and mastered? How joyful to be subject to the whip and know that one will be punished if one is not pleasing, and then not feel the whip, because one is pleasing, and one finds one’s joy in serving, in loving, and being pleasing.
One advantage, of course, in being a property, is that, as one is a property, one can be owned. Properties have value, lesser or greater value. A slave is a property, one of greater or lesser value. Thus, she is in little danger of being killed, no more than any other domestic animal, of greater or lesser value. She, as other domestic animals, may be purchased, sold, gifted, stolen, seized, appropriated, and such, but she is likely to have little to fear where her life is concerned. Where a free man or a free woman might be summarily slain a slave is likely to be merely acquired. Where a free woman might have her throat cut a slave would be more likely to have a ring put in her nose and then, by means of a cord attached to that ring, her hands bound behind her, be hurried after a new Master.
Cornhair had little doubt that if she had been a free male, or perhaps even a free female, and certainly, if she had run, or resisted, she would have been burned to a burst of ashes, as the fellow who had fled from her side, leaving her at the edge of the vast, foul pit.
These men about now, in the vehicles, and the hoverers, passing about her, and over her, moving toward the city, were clearly of barbarian stock.
Although she was filled with trepidation, she had no immediate apprehension of grievous danger. She was more stirred, more excited and thrilled, than terrified.
These men were barbarians.
They had uses for women, she knew, particularly beautiful women.
Too, she was alive!
She knew that the blockade of Abrogastes could not have been emplaced and managed without a great many ships.
Here were only six ships.
This must be a small part of what must be a large, impressive force.
Clearly then this was not an invasion, but something very different, a raid, of sorts.
How was it that the batteries had been silent?
The swarm of land vehicles and hoverers which had issued from the hulls of the six great ships had now muchly abated, having apparently reached and entered the city.
Indeed, no hoverers were now in sight. On the other hand, at intervals, one or more of the smaller vehicles, treaded or wheeled, rolled down the corrugated steel ramps, and moved, though in a leisurely way, toward Telnar. Their purposes, we may suppose, were various, but, at a minimum, it seems likely that some were intended to establish and maintain a defensive perimeter within which the six ships might be relatively secure, should a sortie emerge from Telnar; others to maintain some physical communications between the preceding wave of attackers and the ships, for example, carrying personnel back and forth; others to safeguard exit routes and prevent attackers from being cut off from the ships, and so on.
Suddenly one of these small vehicles swerved toward Cornhair.
“Take her!” she heard.
The small vehicle, tearing up turf, ground to a stop beside her.
“Masters!” cried Cornhair.
She had no time to kneel, for a hand reached out, seized her by the bound arm, and drew her into the vehicle.
“I have her,” said the fellow in whose grasp, tied as she was, Cornhair was helpless.
The vehicle then continued on its way.
Cornhair was thrust to her knees on the steel flooring, at the feet of two or three men, who stood behind a raised, slitted, shieldlike projection, through which they could peer.
A hand thrust her head down, almost to the floor.
“What are you doing out here, tied like a pig?” asked a man.
“I am as a pig, Master,” she said. “I am a slave!” Cornhair wished it to be immediately clear, if it were not already clear enough, that she was not a free woman, and was thus, hopefully, immune from the hazards which might accompany that state.
“These are unlikely lakes in which to go swimming,” said a man.
“Yes, Master,” said Cornhair.
“What were you doing here?” asked the first man.
“I do not know,” said Cornhair.
“She was brought here to be disposed of,” said one of the men.
“I fear so,” said Cornhair.
“Doubtless deservedly,” said another.
“No, Master!” said Cornhair, her head down, her eyes on the steel flooring.
“She’s a pretty one,” said one of the men.
“You are not wearing much,” said a man.
“I am a slave,” she said.
“At least we need not rip silks from her body,” said a man.
“Still, it is pleasant to do that,” said another.
“Are there more like you, in Telnar?” asked a man.
“Yes, Master,” said Cornhair. “Thousands, and free women, too!”
“Are the free women good looking?” asked a man.
“I do not know,” said Cornhair.
“It is easy enough to find out,” said a man.
There was laughter.
“Spoils,” said a man.
“Booty,” said another.
“Loot!” said another.
“What do you think, little slave?” asked one of the men.
“We are women,” said Cornhair. “We belong to those strong enough to take us and make us slaves.”
“That is a slave’s answer,” said a man.
“I am a slave,” said Cornhair.
“You have no collar,” said a man.
“It was taken away,” said Cornhair. “I assure you I am a slave. Examine my thigh! You will discover that I am well and clearly marked, nicely marked.”
“Every slave should be in a collar,” said a man.
“Yes, Master,” said Cornhair.
“Collars are lovely on a woman,” said a man.
“Yes, Master,” said Cornhair. There was little doubt in her mind but what a collar muchly enhanced a woman’s attractiveness, and not merely aesthetically. Much had to do with its meaning. It said much about the woman who wore it.
Cornhair, looking up, as the vehicle rumbled on, saw above her the arch of a gate. They were now in the city.
“May I speak, Masters?” asked Cornhair.
“Yes,” said a fellow, considering windows and rooftops. The street seemed deserted. Doubtless the main attacking force had plied this street, and perhaps others, like it.
“Telnar is large,” said Cornhair. “It is the capital. Millions reside here. Surely you cannot reduce Telnar with the forces at your disposal.”
“We have briefer business here,” said a man.
“We shall not be long,” said another.
“The assault will have gathered by now,” said a man. “The strike is imminent.”
“Within the hour,” said another of the men.
“What is our destination, Masters?” asked Cornhair.
“The palace, the imperial palace,” said a man.
“No!” cried Cornhair, and sprang to her feet, only to have her hair seized and held, and she was then cuffed, back and forth, four blows, left cheek, right cheek, left cheek, right cheek, and then, subdued, miserable, lips bleeding, she sank again to her knees.
“What is wrong, little slave?” asked a man.
“Let me go!” she begged. “You need not untie me. Just let me go! Put me from the vehicle! Cast me to the pavement, but do not take me to the palace!”
“You fear the palace?” said a man.
“Yes, yes,” she said. “Please do not take me there! Please, Masters!”
“It is our destination,” said the fellow at the controls of the vehicle.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
“Ah,” said Iaachus, “my noble friend, Julian! How wonderful to see you again, dear fellow, and, too, cousin to our beloved emperor! How often I have thought of you!”
“My dear friend, sweet Arbiter, prop of the empire, defender of the throne,” said Julian, “I, too, have often thought of you.”
“You will forgive me, I trust,” said Iaachus, “if I do not rise to greet you. There is a certain tightness in my knee, a fall.”
“Certainly,” said Julian.
“And, if I am not mistaken,” said Iaachus, “you are accompanied by the noble Ottonius, captain in our esteemed Auxiliaries.”
Otto did not speak, but looked about the room.
“And king of Otungs,” said Julian.
“I trust not a tribe of the Aatii,” said Iaachus.
“No, of the Vandal peoples,” said Julian, “a confederation commonly hostile to the Aatii.”
“There are so many of these barbarian nations,” said Iaachus. “It is very confusing.”
“The chamber, outside, is heavily guarded,” said Julian.
“Yes,” said Iaachus. “Times are trying.”
“Doubtless,” said Julian.
“It is my understanding,” said Iaachus, “that you wished to see me, privately.”
“Yes, dear friend,” said Julian, “privately.”
“I see,” said the Arbiter.
“We are not alone,” said Otto.
“I left my pistol outside,” said Julian. “You may close your center desk drawer.”
“Tyrus, Arsus,” said the Arbiter, “you might go and see if our friend’s pistol is safe.”
Two men stepped from behind drapes and went, briefly, to the chamber portal. “It is secure, Lord,” said one of the men.
“Excellent,” said Iaachus. “You may now leave, both of you.”
“Yes, Lord,” said one of the men, and they both exited.
“The drawer,” suggested Julian.
“Of course,” said Iaachus. He then slid shut the drawer.
“Perhaps you are surprised to see my friend, Captain Ottonius,” said Julian.
“Pleasantly, of course,” said Iaachus. “I had thought him engaged on Tangara, recruiting allies.”
“And I?” asked Julian.
“At your villa, I supposed, on Vellmer.”
“I, too, was on Tangara,” said Julian.
“Interesting,” said Iaachus.
“Abrogastes, king of the Drisriaks, of the Alemanni, the Aatii, blockades Telnaria,” said Julian.
“Briefly,” said Iaachus. “Even now imperial cruisers rush nigh, from a hundred worlds.”
“And leave a hundred borders undefended,” said Julian. “Through abandoned gates stream unwelcome guests.”
“Telnaria comes first,” said Iaachus. “It is the seat of the senate and empire.”
“Surely,” said Julian, “you do not think these developments unrelated.”
“How do barbarians think?” asked Iaachus. “Perhaps we should ask one, our friend, noble Ottonius.”
“Noble Lord,” said Otto, “let us conjecture that Abrogastes, called the Far-Grasper, though a barbarian, is not a fool. Clearly his blockade cannot win him an empire, even bring a world to its knees. Therefore, it has another purpose, or other purposes. It is not a blockade, truly, or at least not a blockade for its own sake, even something as negligible as demonstrating the possibility of intrusion or the performing of a trivial, superficial act of annoyance, but rather a tactic, one already successfully executed. The empire is like the egg of a varda, a hard shell, and, within, a soft center. Now the shell is shattered and the center at risk.”
“At less risk, noble Ottonius, than you imagine,” said Iaachus. “Telnaria has conserved mighty weaponry, which may be employed in its defense.”
“The batteries,” said Julian.
“Of course,” said Iaachus.
“Which may not fire,” said Otto.
“I do not understand,” said Iaachus.
“In many districts of the city,” said Julian, “there is unrest, civil disorder, rioting, looting and burning.”
“Unfortunatel
y,” said Iaachus.
“The blockade?” said Julian.
“That is the pretext,” said Iaachus. “More is concealed.”
“Guardsmen are few,” said Julian. “They do not interfere.”
“They have been forbidden to interfere, save to defend their own safety,” said Iaachus.
“What madness is this?” said Julian.
“Much has transpired since Tangara,” said Iaachus. “New games are afoot, and new players move unfamiliar pieces.”
“I shall tell you what I have learned,” said Julian, “and you may tell me what you know.”
“Proceed, dear friend,” said Iaachus.
“Recruitment amongst Vandals, once promising, is imperiled,” said Julian. “Loyalties are uncertain and confusion reigns. By tradition, Vandals, in all their tribes, will follow the wearer of a given medallion and chain, a war lord’s emblem of office. Drisriaks, a tribe of the Aatii, or Alemanni, by custom hereditary enemies of Vandals, obtained that token, and threatened plausibly to use it to unite the Alemanni and Vandal nations in an alliance which would portend doom to the empire. But many such medallions and chains were smithed and distributed, this casting doubt on the authenticity of any such device.”
“Excellent!” said Iaachus.
“Now,” said Julian, “that alliance is forestalled, but Vandals, even Otungs, hesitate to declare for the silver standards.”
“There is much here,” said Otto, “which I do not understand. I do not see in this matter the thinking of Drisriaks. There is a subtlety and an astuteness here, a narrow slyness and cunning, which seems unlikely to have sprung from camps and halls. What is here speaks rather to me of cities, of sheltered colonnades and sealed chambers.”
“Let us suppose,” said Julian, “as my colleague suspects, that machinations are herein involved, and machinations originating in, or supported by, forces within Telnaria itself.”
“Yes,” said Iaachus, “let us suppose that.”
“Then what I cannot understand is the possible motivation for such an act. What could be gained? Why would one tear down walls? Why would one open gates in the presence of an enemy?”
“Clearly there would be something to be gained,” said Iaachus.
“Surely nothing in the interest of the throne,” said Julian.